This year as I prepare for the Passover, I realize how important tradition is to me. Tradition cements the bond to my descendants but also crosses the bridge to those who have departed: my parents and grandparents. Tradition from now on is up to my sister and me, our children maybe, yes, maybe later once they feel the tug of their heritage.
Sis and I -as protectors of our family’s legacy, still enjoy
the festival and preparing traditional dishes for our own families.
On the eve of the holiday, my grandma Rizula used to make
the best charoset (mixture of apples, honey, walnuts, sweet Kosher wine and
spices) and just before sunset on Passover she would set a spoonful on the
Seder Plate while the rest was placed by tablespoons onto fresh escarole leaves
then rolled up into short fat packets … symbolizing the sorrow of slavery
(bitter escarole) and the sweetness (charoset) of the Jews’ exodus from their
servitude in Egypt.
Her thumb-print cookies were an unforgettable dream for
which my cousins and I had to wait the entire year! I recently asked one of my Israeli cousins if
she had the recipe but, alas, everyone knows Rizula saved recipes in her head
and not in a recipe box in the pantry.
My grandma’s memory fills my heart with nostalgia … she was
a weaver of rugs, spending long winter hours bent over her loom creating
patterns with soft, multi colored or monochromatic silks and yarns. What thoughts or memories played in her mind
during those hours of solitude?
A great cook of traditional Sephardic cuisine; she was also
a great source of wisdom, comfort and support to her six living progenies and
all her grandchildren.
When I was a child, I used to watch her as she lit the
Sabbath candles, her faith written on her face as my grandfather whispered the
holy prayers attired in his kippah (yarmulke) and tālēt (tallit) (his much-worn
prayer shawl).
Every Passover I review the packets of matzo in
supermarkets’ tempting displays plus all the other necessary items ‘Koshered’
for the holiday. My grandmother’s cooking creations came from scratch…I could
now buy prepared matzo-ball soup, or grape leaves in a tin if I wanted to!
I like the tradition of preparing comforting food for the
holidays, its symbolic meaning etched in my head through the nostalgic memories
of my ancestors’ past. I can recreate the recipes I experienced during my
childhood, the legendary boyicos, huevos haminados, borekas, fritadas and other
wonderful soul-altering treats, a sumptuous array of Sephardic fare constructed
and influenced through the centuries by intricate historic circumstances,
persecution, dietary laws, legacy and religious displacement.
Remembrance brings the galloping power of memories spreading
tradition into our cultural views and celebratory ways … because when my
grandma rolled the escarole leaves with the charoset filling on Passover Eve,
and lovingly placed the last biscuit with plumb jam in its center on the
buttered cookie sheet, she was also placing commitment and affection along with
pride and family ritual, she was recasting her own mother’s and grandmothers’
roles in the act of preparing and serving food for her family.
Our Seder this year will be small, our parents and
grandparents have already passed on; our children, living in different parts of
the country won’t be around either so it'll be just a couple of friends, my hubby and me -plus the memories of
numerous Passovers past. I will set the
Seder plate, belonging to my grandmother, just about the same way she did
throughout my childhood: the bitter herbs in the left corner, the tiny bowl of
salt water -- symbolic of tears -- just to the other side, the hard-boiled egg
(fertility and life), the charoset, the matzo, the lamb shank … lighting the
candles at sunset, I'll recite a short prayer feeling the incredible warmth of
ancestors past vying for space round the table -right by my side. ESW
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